


The Next Train to Moscow

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Heavy Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison, Soviet Union, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Just before the collapse of the USSR, Sergei is arrested for being part of a plot to overthrow the government. Nicholai visits him in prison.A short, angsty one-shot.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	The Next Train to Moscow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lordbhreanna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbhreanna/gifts).



_**October, 1991.** _

The prison smelled grotesquely disinfected. 

Bleach on a dirty mop, scrubbed across the floor millions of times. 

No amount of scrubbing could erase the stench of vomit, or the acrid rank of piss and sweat soaked into the pores of the concrete floors and walls. Of blood.

Everything was grey in the prison.

The drab, lifeless colour of the uniforms of the guards blended seamlessly into the walls.

Appropriate.

Those men barely existed to Nicholai. They were below contempt.

The prison was called _Belyy Lebed._ The White Swan. No one knew how it got that name. Tucked away at the remote edges of Solikamsk, the train journey had been over a full day from Moscow. Nicholai had to plan his visits far in advance, and even then, the guards had turned him away more than once after he'd already arrived, malevolently holding him up for hours with stupid paperwork so he'd miss the last train before forcing him to trek back to the village and wait in the isolated station until the next day's departure.

They let him through today. He suppressed a sigh of relief when the guards ushered him into the small, dark back room to pat him down, thoroughly interrogating every pocket and crease in the fabric of his clothes, as though he weren't a visitor but a criminal himself like the rest of the freaks and degenerates held within the securely-locked bars of that institution. 

And then there was Sergei.

Sergei wasn't meant to be there.

He didn't _deserve_ to be there.

The scrambling, collapsing Government had thrown him and other soldiers of prestigious rank and unwavering Soviet loyalty into the various penal colonies across Siberia. Their only crime had been trying to stop the American-backed dissolution of the most glorious Union that had ever graced the face of the Earth. 

In Sergei's case, he hadn't even been involved. They had just feared him.

His power. His skills. His incredible genius. 

They'd stolen him in the dark of night. Nicholai would never forget the humiliation of being woken up to a cabal of flashlights in his face, guns aimed on him. They pulled Sergei from the bed -- it took four of them to handcuff him.

" _How can you call yourselves Russians?!_ " Nicholai had screamed at the special police, fury gripping his throat tightly, ragged breaths wracking his body as sights remained trained on him, a sea of red spots pocking his face and chest, " _How can you call yourselves Soviets?!_ "

They'd left once Sergei was secured. The older man had been cooing at him empathetically the whole time, begging him not to worry, begging him not to get into a fight with the police. 

The police who had mocked him. They’d mocked _them_.

Sitting across from him, a thick pane of scratched plastic dividing them, Nicholai thought Sergei looked so small. 

He was taller than him. Weighed more. Had broader shoulders and a wider chest. And yet he could almost disappear -- grey jumper melting him into the walls like the faceless guards he refused to acknowledge the existences of. 

A man who had dedicated his life to his motherland -- gave his sight and scarred his body in war for her. A man who had been awarded an Order of Glory, an Order of Suvarov _and_ an Order of Bogdan Khmelnitsky -- _all_ first class -- for his unwavering, exceptional service and loyalty. A man who wore his uniform with pride and honour.

Degraded. 

The grey jumpsuit was unbecoming of a Colonel. Sergei seemed to know that. He made no attempt to hide the shame darkening the back of his good eye as he stared at him idly through the plastic divider. 

Both of their hands went to grip the telephone at the same time, the receiver clicking loudly as it was raised. 

Nicholai considered that telephone to be a lifeline. A umbilical cord. A holy string connecting light to darkness. He prayed it was strong enough to hold him.

When the older man brought the receiver to his ear, Nicholai could hear finally hear his breathing.

It was a vaccine to all of his ills. 

"I hate what they've done to you..." It was a quiet, broken choke. Every muscle in Nicholai's throat burned with fury and anguish as his voice quivered in strain, "I **_hate_** them... _so_ much."

Sergei smiled a half-cocked grin but remained silent. His gaze was fixated on him, even though Nicholai's kept darting around the room in awkward avoidance. It was always overwhelming for him.

A moment of silence passed. It was a precious moment lost.

"They turned you away last time. I know. I am sorry." Sergei's voice was quiet, soft, assured, "You should not come here, the journey is too long."

"As if I have anything else to do!" Nicholai spat, brow furrowing as his cheeks trembled pathetically. His unit in _Spetsnaz_ had been dissolved like many others had been -- the Government scrambling to save money to pay international debtors and survive the imminent collapse. The military and civil union purge had been so great, and the debts so large, that not even an elderly _babushka,_ a wife of a war hero, could get a social assistance application.

There was no money. There was barely any food -- the grocery stores had been almost completely depleted. 

More importantly, there were no _cigarettes_. 

"All I do is worry." Nicholai gasped, taking a deep, ragged breath and quieting his voice down to a whisper, "I sit in bed and worry. I get out of bed and worry. I go back to bed and **_worry_**."

"About me?" Sergei cocked an eyebrow, "Do you think anyone here could hurt me?"

Nicholai scoffed, shaking his head, " _Vashe dostoinstvo ... Vasha chest'_."

"Do you think less of me for this?" Sergei raised his hand and twirled his finger around at his surroundings, indicating his imprisonment. 

" ** _Never_**." Nicholai gaped, "I would _never_ think less of you for anything."

"Then I am fine. My dignity... My honour -- she is fine." Sergei smirked. The shame melted out of his good eye, then. Or, at least it was barely visible in that moment behind a glimmer of contentedness. 

Nicholai sucked a breath in, chuckling sardonically as he cast his gaze towards the filthy floor. 

"Besides... there are _things_ happening that you will learn about soon." Sergei quipped chipperly, "It is all going to be okay, _Kolya_."

The younger man looked up again, wincing as he caught a glimpse of the ragged, red lines around Sergei's wrist on the hand that was holding his receiver to his ear. 

"H.. how are you so sure?"

Sergei smiled. It was still a beautiful smile. Bright, white, and entirely inappropriate for the oppressive surroundings.

"We are under a very large _umbrella_ , now." He winked, "The rain won't bother us anymore."

Nicholai furrowed his brow in confusion, the cryptic message barely having a moment to process in his mind before he saw a guard swiftly approach Sergei from behind, reaching for the receiver's hook switch. 

"I l--" 

_Click_.

The frantic words were lost as the guard hung up the phone on Sergei's end, the older man casting a saddened glance at him through the plastic divider. He lifted his hand to the pane, Nicholai rapidly following suit. For the briefest moment, their hands fell upon each other. 

The guard grabbed Sergei's wrist roughly, yanking it away from the plastic and tugging it behind his back as he worked to cuff him. It was a pathetic sight -- the Colonel was so much larger than the boy was. It was all a performance Sergei wasn't resisting. Their gazes remained locked until the moment he was pulled away, Sergei mouthing words to him he could not hear or understand. 

Nicholai watched him be led to a large, steel-plated door at the back of the room, one which slammed so loud in closing that he could almost hear it through the divider.

And like that, he was gone.

He hadn't realised he was still holding the receiver to his ear. Lips parted. Jaw clenched. Throat twitching with the rest of the words he never got to say. Mind combing over the final words Sergei had uttered.

_A very large umbrella._

"Hey!" A screeching bellow interrupted him, head shooting around to meet the loud, authoritarian demand, "Faggot! Time's up! Get the fuck out!"

The receiver _clicked_ loudly as he replaced it on the wall.

_Rain won't bother us anymore._

He cast a glance at the clock at the far end of the room as he moved to leave the prison, sighing as he slowly padded through the desert of grey nothingness, holding his head up high and declining to make eye contact with the army of faceless people blending into the walls. The wall-people who snickered about him. The wall-people who didn't know honour.

His boots tinned softly against the concrete floor. The one that stunk of bleach and dirty mops.

He was in no rush.

He'd already missed the next train to Moscow.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Vashe dostoinstvo ... Vasha chest'/Ваше достоинство ... Ваша честь = Your dignity... your honour.
> 
> ~
> 
> This took all of... 15 minutes to write, so I apologise if it is kind of weird and stupid. 
> 
> But I have this growing, mega HC about Sergei having been arrested just before the official collapse of the Soviet Union (Dec 1991) for being involved in coup attempts (there were multiple coups in the RFSR prior to collapse, and it was mostly extremely nationalistic military men who were involved). 
> 
> I am gifting this to LordBhreanna (go read her amazing work) because we had discussed Sergei's character so much in comments throughout the weeks that it was literally what got me into thinking about that HC lmfao <3


End file.
